


Written in the stars

by tomoewantsdolls



Series: Drarropoly 2.0 [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Charity Event, Divorced Astoria Greengrass & Draco Malfoy, Divorced Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy Has Long Hair, Drarropoly 2.0 - A Drarry Game/Fest, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Meddling Seer, Pre-Relationship, With an unaware Hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22270432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomoewantsdolls/pseuds/tomoewantsdolls
Summary: A seer wants to talk to Harry at a party, and she has the worst timing, or maybe not
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarropoly 2.0 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558117
Comments: 5
Kudos: 101
Collections: Drarropoly 2.0 - A Drarry Game/Fest





	Written in the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:  
> A world-renowned Seer informs Harry/Draco that his truest equal and soul's match is either 1) "the one with the lightning-shaped scar" -OR- 2) "the blond who broke your nose". Choose either 1) Hogwart's 8th Year -OR- 2) Divorced after age 40.  
> Thanks a-reader-and-writer for the beta work!
> 
> (Any remaining mistake is my fault and mine alone)

The new year ball was a raging success. They had raised enough money for the orphans; and to Harry's delight, he had successfully avoided being photographed (and paired) with yet another single attendant by the Witch Weekly reporters. Or being accosted by Rita Skeeter to gather juicing details of his private life for another scathing article on the Prophet. 

Since his divorce, the magazine had made a headline in every occasion he talked with someone in public more than half an hour at a time.

It was a bother, really, more than anything for the enquiry that followed from his teenager daughter. She demanded (quite reasonably) to be the first to know when his father found himself a partner. 

Harry exhaled. It would be nice to have someone beside him. An equal. But after Ginny, once he felt ready to try - every time he had actually tried - it was a disaster. His public image preceded him, and Harry found that their preconceived notions set a standard hard to match. One even told him that "Harry Potter is not like that." The date didn't end well, of course. 

"Potter." Harry turned his head towards the familiar voice. 

"Malfoy. Haven't seen you the whole night." That was a blatant lie; that blond hair was like a beacon in the multitude. He had it long now, artfully combed in a braid, and it stood out over his blue velvet robes. Harry had actually been avoiding the blond, but that would be a harsh thing to tell now that they were civil to each other.

"I didn't want to overshadow you."

"Ha!" Harry's deep laugh resonated in the big ballroom, earning him a few disapproving glances from more respectable witches and wizards. He even thought he had seen the Witch Weekly photographer raise his head in interest. 

Malfoy concealed a smile on his champagne flute. "Don't underestimate me."

"I don't, I wish you could get rid of Rita Skeeter for me or those photographers over there."

"Oh, I can do that. I owe my ex-wife a dance." Harry glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. "It was in the divorce agreement," Malfoy clarified. "Watch me win the spotlight from you, Potter." He said handing Harry his glass. 

Harry smirked, and watched him as he did just that. All the eyes were on them, even the photographer was having the time of his life. He had to admit that they were a striking couple: the picture of elegance and grace. 

He felt a pang of longing. 

A cough at his side took him out of his reverie. 

"Mr Potter?" 

Harry turned with surprise at the formality in Hermione's voice. 

"Minister," he said smiling. 

She smiled back and Harry could see the relief in her eyes. She was the youngest Minister ever and she still struggled to be taken seriously; even when she had made enough merits. Harry always got angry on her behalf. 

"Let me introduce you to Madame de Voir."

Harry straightened his posture feeling suddenly self-conscious. Madame de Voir was the most famous seer of her time. Rumor had it that she had predicted - and avoided - her own death several times, and she was old as fuck. 

Harry, who had met Nicholas Flamel, wasn't impressed by the rumors; but now that he met the woman herself he wasn't sure what to think. She was small and fragile, her skin like parchment, but her dark eyes were lively and sharp.

“My pleasure,” he managed to utter at Hermione’s pointed glare.

“I’ll leave you two alone to talk,” she said. Harry’s silent protest was futile and he saw himself on the company of that imposing woman.

“Mr Potter, you certainly carry the strength of your ancestors.” She paused, looking at him in the eyes. “And the capacity of love from your mother’s lineage.”

He pushed his glasses up his nose in a nervous gesture. Age had gave him some patience, but not enough to remain silent waiting for her to get to the point.

“I don’t think you have made the Minister herself to introduce us to praise the merits of my family tree,” he said. It had to be the correct thing to do as a glint appeared in her eyes.

“We are the result of our family tree, but is up to us to decide if we reach our full potential or if we fight our heritage.” She looked briefly to the side and then stepped into his personal space. She lowered her voice enough that he had to stoop awkwardly to heard her. “You have a big heart, Mr Potter; you’ve erred, and you’ve lost. But all those things were necessary for you to find what is written for you in the stars.”

“Er, I don’t want to offend you, but…”

She smiled broadly, reminding him of an sphynx cat. “Oh, I know, divination is not an exact science, as I’ve said, is up to us in the end. But I’ve seen things, as I always do,” she moved closer, “and I can tell you that your truest equal and the one whom your soul craves, is the one with fair hair that broke this bone,” she said tapping his nose with her crooked index finger. 

It took far too long for Harry to react, so when he opened his mouth to voice a most necessary clarification he found himself alone with a borrowed flute of champagne in hand.

Blimey. 

“Happy?” Harry startled. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t seen the source of his distress approach. Malfoy continued, unaware of how the dancing had lit his face with a healthy blush. “You should be. I’ve gave them enough material to be on the frontpage tomorrow. My mother will be thrilled, until I clarify to her that there’s not even a tiny possibility for Astoria and me to get together again.” He said with a toothy grin, like sharing a internal joke that Harry was hardly getting, actually, but who could blame him; he was too distracted with Malfoy’s hair - the braid was half undone, the dance must been enthusiastic - and trying to control the fluters on his belly.

Damn woman and her timing. She could have waited till the end of the party when Harry could have carried her revelation home and mull on it in the peace of his own house. Preferably with two fingers of firewhiskey.

Malfoy turned to him with a blinding smile.

Okay, make it four fingers of firewhiskey.

Maybe it was her plan all along, because Harry could feel the words in the tip of his tongue. He gulped the flute of champagne and blurted them. “Would you fancy a dinner?”


End file.
